"What did you want to be when you grew up when you were 5," he asked.I responded with:
"When I was 5, I wanted to be a ballerina and an attorney.
When I was 10, I wanted to be a cartoonist and an attorney.
When I was 13, I wanted to be a fashion designer and an attorney...and a nun.
When I was 16, I wanted to be a U.S. Senator and an attorney.
When I was 20, I wanted to be an attorney.
When I was 28, I wanted to be a writer and an attorney.
When I was 32, I wanted to be an attorney.
When I was 34, I wanted to be a cyclist and attorney.
At 35, I want to win the lottery so that I can ride my bike, paint pictures, save the world and write about it all."
I didn't offer up an explanation. I felt that I had already over-answered.
Between 5 and 10, life had changed enough that I wanted to make it funny and color it to be things it was not. I was no longer secure in simply losing myself to the dance...
Between 10 and 13, my friends hit puberty (and I did not) and Madonna hit the scene and I wanted to design clothes that either made my breasts look existent or hide the fact they weren't. Let me say that this came after the very tragic Water-Balloon-Bra-Stuffing Incident of 1984.
eh-hem...
Connie may also remember a hideous skirt I made in our clothing textile class and understand why I did not pursue fashion design...
When I was 16 I was the vice president of our chapter of The Future Republicans of America. Then Bush 41 ran for President. Do I really need to say more about this?
Between 16 and 20, I learned about survival. About the law. About human nature and the power of greed. About losing. About bleeding, and breaking, and life...loss and creation. Aside from Kindergarten, I learned the most during this cute little era....
Between 20 and 28, I hardened and softened. I cut throats and ripped jugulars in the corporate world. I clawed, kicked and trampled the meek. I had a phat convertible and badass company car. My son thought I was God. He knew I was Santa. My karma bitchslap was an eye-opening, soul shattering, mind blowing diagnosis of cancer. I learned that there are people who enjoy watching other people be sick. I learned that there are people who will ask out of curiosity more than caring. I learned that regardless of chemo, radiation, loss of self-esteem and/or hair, numbers are numbers in certain companies and if you are too weak to fly to Dallas to take a client to dinner and a titty bar, you may get your ass reamed.
Between 28 and 32, I felt invincible and got married and then left. Nothing was funny anymore. I wanted nothing recorded. The writing, the painting, the dancing...all stopped. I forfeited my identity to another because it was easier than fighting for myself day in and day out with someone who did not care who I was and only desired a trophy to show to his friends. My employer was wildly excited about the time I was willing to dedicate to my job rather than deal with the impending doom of my marriage. I sold out....for a minute or two.
Between 32 and 34 I rediscovered who I was and what I love. It involved my kiddos, my bicycles, all dogs, gear, and shoes. It did not involve my former spouse, so that was the end of that.
Between 34 and 35 I took time off to get healthy and regroup. It became easier to not play the game. I stopped caring what people think and started caring more about how people feel. I stopped giving a crap as to whether my view was the popular one. I stopped caring that my nipples are crooked and my car is a greedy gas guzzling whore. I let go of people who hung on and people who drained me. I got the reputation of being sweet and awful, kind and cruel, altruistic and cold, fun and boring, wild and a prude.
If that's not balance, I don't know what is.
